


Cast A Long Shadow

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Casual Sex, Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Misunderstandings, Racism, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 07:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7212585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sent to survey a ruined castle in the small border village of Undercliffe, after an awkward introduction Porthos starts seeing local author Athos de la Fere. But historical events overshadow their budding relationship, and after days of endless rain the countryside itself may be about to make the most catastrophic impact of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Porthos stood on top of the castle tower and gazed down at the valley spread out below him. Panting slightly from the climb, he was grateful for the stiff breeze up here and starting to regret his thick jumper even though the day was cloudy.

The castle was a ruin, with little left of it apart from a few sections of curtain wall, part of the gatehouse and this one tower where he was currently standing. It was half a tower really, there was no back to it and this crumbling section of battlements was out of bounds to the general public. Porthos had a key though, and was able to bypass the modern wooden gate barring the most treacherous part and climb as high as he liked.

As a surveyor for National Heritage, he was responsible for ensuring plans were up to date and identifying any repairs needed on the more isolated and unmanned sites around the country, and his favourite part of the job was definitely getting to access the areas other people weren’t allowed to. 

Staring out over the countryside, Porthos briefly pretended he was king of the castle – or more likely a baron he decided, out here on the English/Welsh border. It was the off season, so he’d had the place to himself barring the occasional local dog-walker or hardy group of ramblers. As far as the eye could see the country was green and lush looking and there were jackdaws flying on a level with him, chack-ing irritably at this invasion of their roost.

The castle was situated on a hill to the west of the village of Undercliffe where Porthos was staying. He could make out the rooftops over the trees, and the tower of the church. There were hardly any houses closer, just one cottage nestled into the side of the hill right below the castle. Porthos judged that it must be a dark sort of place at the back, but must have stunning views down the valley to the front. 

As he watched, a battered land rover laboured up the track from the village and pulled up next to the cottage. As a man climbed out and proceeded to unload a stack of grocery bags, a gust of wind brought the clink of bottles to his ears and Porthos smiled to himself. He wouldn't mind a lunchtime drink himself, but it would be sandwiches and coffee until he could knock off for the day. He sighed, and went back to work.

\--

Two days later Porthos sat down to his lunch as usual, perched on a relatively dry section of stonework. Unscrewing his thermos to make a drink he was faced with nothing but a dribble of lukewarm water and groaned. Staying at the pub, he'd been filling his thermos from the kettle in his room but he'd overslept that morning and shoved it back into his bag in the rush to get ready, completely forgetting he hadn't refilled it.

The prospect of lunch without a hot drink on such an overcast and drizzly day was a gloomy one, and Porthos wondered if he could be arsed to walk all the way into the village and back. It suddenly occurred to him that he might be able to call at the cottage below and beg some hot water. Surely no one would begrudge boiling a kettle, and it would save him a forty minute round trip.

Filled with renewed hope he sauntered down the path to the cottage. There was no doorbell, so Porthos knocked on the door and waited. After a minute or so when nothing had happened, he knocked again, a little more loudly. He wondered if perhaps there was nobody in, but the land rover was parked to the side of the house.

Porthos was just about to give up and walk away when the front door was wrenched open and a man glared out at him.

"What the fuck do you w- oh." He faltered, apparently taken aback by Porthos' appearance. "Can I help you?" he asked a little more civilly. Porthos suspected his hi vis jacket gave the impression of authority, or maybe it was just that he was tall and rather imposing. He summoned a hopeful smile.

"Sorry to bother you – I was just wondering if it would be possible to cadge some hot water?" Porthos held up his flask by way of illustration.

The man's expression went from cautiously polite to incredulous. "You interrupted me for _that?_ Do I look like a service station?" he demanded and Porthos was taken aback.

"Yeah, well, forget it, eh? Sorry to have troubled you," he muttered, embarrassed and indignant, and turned to go.

The man in the doorway relented. "Look - no - wait." He sighed. "Sorry. You just broke my train of thought when I was on a roll, that's all. I didn't mean to be rude. You just want some hot water?"

"Only if it's not too much trouble," Porthos said stiffly. 

"I can probably stretch to boiling a kettle,” the man conceded. "You'd better come in."

Porthos followed him inside, ducking under the low lintel and looking around with interest. The cottage was small and cosy, the downstairs having been opened out into one open space, presumably to maximise the light. 

"This is very kind of you," Porthos said, hoping to get things on a more friendly footing. "My name's Porthos by the way. Porthos du Vallon."

"Athos." The two men shook hands, and while Athos went to fill the kettle Porthos noticed a laptop open on the dining table. 

"Sorry again for interrupting."

"Oh, never mind. You're working at the castle, right?" Porthos looked surprised and Athos smirked at his confusion. "I've noticed someone walking around the place in hi-vis the last couple of days. What are you doing?"

"Surveying," Porthos told him. "Checking for cracks, subsidence, damage, that sort of thing. Has to be done every few years, in a bit more depth than the occasional visual inspections."

"Must be rather a lonely job?"

"Not really. Most people you meet want to stop and talk. Apart from the ones I manage to piss off, anyway," Porthos smiled. "What do you do?"

"Writer. For my sins." 

"Now that has got to be a lonely job."

"I quite like it that way," Athos admitted. "I came here for the peace and quiet. But people keep knocking on my door to ask the way to the castle, which considering that you can see the fucking thing if you just look up, gets really annoying. I've considered nailing an arrow to my door with a sign reading 'that way you blind twat'. What do you reckon?"

Porthos laughed, reflecting that it at least explained the irate manner in which Athos had opened the door to him. The kettle clicked off and Athos reached for the flask. "You sure you only want hot water?" 

"Yeah, I've got a bunch of instant coffee sachets from my hotel room," Porthos told him. "Well, I say hotel, I'm staying at The Lion."

"Can I tempt you to a decent cup instead?" Athos asked, not having missed how Porthos' eyes kept sliding to the half-full cafetiere steaming fragrantly on the counter.

"Well – as long as I'm not derailing a work of staggering genius or something," Porthos said, nodding at the laptop.

Athos conceded a smile. "Alright, I confess, you mostly interrupted me staring out of the window."

Porthos laughed. "Why not then. Thank you."

Athos poured him a mug and slid it over. "You want milk or sugar?"

"No thanks, I like it black."

"Me too," Athos murmured, and Porthos wondered if he'd imagined the briefly assessing up and down glance Athos had given him. "How long are you staying?"

"About a month," Porthos said, wandering over to the front window and looking out. He'd been right about the breathtaking view. "Bit less maybe if I get done quicker. There's not exactly a lot of this one left." He looked sideways at Athos, who'd joined him at the window. "You know, I could maybe speak to my people, get some better signage put up on the footpath? Might stop people bothering you."

Athos looked surprised. "Oh. That would be kind."

"One good deed deserves another," Porthos smiled, toasting him with his coffee mug.

They chatted idly for a while, mostly about the village and the view, and Athos even fetched out a packet of chocolate digestives. Eventually Porthos drained the last of his coffee and sighed.

"I'd better be getting back. Thanks for the coffee, that was fab."

"Don't forget your flask." Athos handed him the freshly filled thermos. 

"Thanks." Porthos smiled at him. "You should drop into the Lion one night, let me buy you a drink in return. I'm in the bar most nights, there's not a lot else to do round here."

"I might just do that," Athos agreed.

"Well. See you round then." Porthos found he was reluctant to leave, but tore himself away. As he climbed back up to where he'd stowed his equipment Porthos found himself hoping Athos really would drop in for that drink and wasn't just being polite.

\--

In fact, Athos appeared in the pub that very night. When Porthos came down from his room he found Athos already at the bar talking to one of the local farmers, a ruddy-faced man named Paul who'd helped Porthos out when he first arrived, with access to some of the fields around the castle.

"Athos." Porthos walked over with a broad smile. "Good to see you. What'll you have?"

Athos joined him in a pint of the local ale, brewed just ten miles up the road, and while they were being pulled Paul nudged Porthos in the ribs.

"See you've met our local celebrity author then," he declared.

Porthos looked at Athos in some surprise and wondered with vague embarrassment if he should have recognised him. Athos gave him a self-conscious smile.

"Hardly that," he admitted. "I've had one book published, that's all. And it didn't exactly trouble the best-seller lists."

"Set round here though," Paul put in for Porthos' benefit. "Not named, obviously, but you can recognise the place right enough. They've got copies of it in the shop, you should get yourself one. Not my sort of thing, obviously," he mused as an afterthought. "But if you skip the mucky bits it's clever enough I suppose."

Athos pressed his lips together, looking like he was trying not to laugh. 

"He's your resident celebrity then?" Porthos said to Paul with a grin, mostly to annoy Athos who was looking increasingly embarrassed.

"That he is." Paul clapped Athos on the back. "Poof mind, but you can't have everything, can you?" he added philosophically, before wandering off to watch the darts match that was going on in the corner.

Porthos looked at Athos with considerable amusement. "He's not on commission is he?"

Athos gave a splutter of pained laughter. "There's something unique about the way people round here can make praise sound like character assassination."

"I'd best get meself a copy then, by the sounds of it."

"Don't feel obliged," Athos said hurriedly. “It’s not everybody’s cup of tea.” He smiled. “Or thermos of hot water, for that matter.”

\--

The next day Porthos ventured into the village's one general store and found that sure enough, in their small display of books they did have several copies of what he presumed was the right one.

 _Cast A Long Shadow_ , by Athos de la Fere. There was a stylised impression of a ruined castle on the cover, sticking up from a swirl of green and yellow fields like the stump of a broken tooth. Porthos turned it over and grinned at the author photograph on the back, a small black and white shot of Athos looking neatly groomed and with that same self-conscious smile. He bought a copy and tucked it safely into his work bag, intending to make a start during his lunch.

\--

That evening Porthos sat in the bar again. He’d been hoping that Athos might drop by, but was so engrossed in the book that he didn't even notice when he walked in. Athos saw him first and came over.

"Hello. Mind if I join you?"

Porthos looked up and smiled in surprise. "Hello you. Yeah, grab a seat." he waved the book at him. "This is really good."

Athos flushed slightly, but looked pleased. "Don’t feel you have to be polite."

"I'm not, it's brilliant." 

At first it had seemed to be two distinct stories running in parallel timelines – one set in a mediaeval castle with the young steward Philip falling subject to the desires of the dastardly Lord Richard, whilst in the present day a local farm labourer was similarly smitten by a flash newcomer from London. But as the book progressed the two threads began to blur, with dark powers beginning to bleed through between the centuries and the fates of everyone becoming intertwined. Porthos was already halfway through and reluctant to put it down. 

“I’m glad you like it,” Athos said rather shyly. Porthos winked at him.

“Especially the mucky bits.”

Athos choked on his beer. 

“It’s funny,” he mused, after Porthos had banged him sympathetically on the back. “I was half afraid when it first came out that I’d be chased out of the village. People tend to be very – conservative, shall we say, in these parts. But they seem oddly proud of it. I think half the village has read it.”

“Nothing odd about that,” Porthos said. “It’s an amazing book so far, and I can’t wait to find out what happens.” He frowned. “It’s not going to be all tragic and stuff, is it? No! Don’t tell me.”

Athos laughed. “My lips are sealed.”

“Anyway, it’s very much – my kind of thing,” Porthos said carefully, paraphrasing Paul and hoping Athos got the message. 

“Good to know,” Athos murmured, watching him with amused eyes that said he knew exactly what Porthos meant.

By the time Athos got up to leave after last orders, Porthos was feeling pleasantly drunk and considerably smitten. Athos was a dry and witty companion, not to mention severely gorgeous, and Porthos was reluctant to say goodbye so soon.

“Do you have to walk all the way back up that hill in the dark?” he asked.

“I’ve got a torch,” Athos shrugged. “Once you’re out of the village there’s no traffic. It’s quite safe. I do it all the time.”

“Still,” Porthos protested. “I don’t like to think of you all on your own like that. I should walk you home.”

Athos opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again with a knowing smile. “If you insist.”

They walked slowly up the track together, talking quietly.

“So. You, er. Seeing anyone?” Porthos asked casually.

“No.” Athos gave him a sidelong glance. “You?”

“Nah. I’m single.”

They both looked at each other speculatively, then quickly away again as they were both caught out in the act of looking. Both were smiling now, hearts thumping a little at the thought of what they were almost certainly about to do.

“Hey.” Porthos stopped walking and reached out, guiding Athos into the shadow of the churchyard wall. Athos didn’t protest, but clicked off his torch and slid it into his pocket. The darkness wasn’t quite complete, a light on the church porch some way above them meant a faint orange glow filtered down through the trees, and half a moon was visible over the track.

Athos’ hands were on Porthos’ arms by now, guiding him in, and without another word exchanged they kissed each other. It was hot, and slow, and they fell back against the wall in each other’s arms, kissing intently for some time.

Eventually they resumed their progress up the hill, stopping frequently to kiss each other again, laughing and stumbling and by now walking hand in hand. It was quite a while before they made the cottage, and they stopped again to kiss in the porch. 

It was at this point that Porthos realised his chivalrous ploy of walking Athos home might have backfired slightly, as he looked back the way they had come and realised the path was a pitch black tunnel under the trees.

“Would you like to borrow my torch?” Athos offered, and Porthos gave him a sheepish smile of relief.

“Thanks. I’ll drop it back tomorrow.”

Athos bit his lips. “Would you, um – I could cook you dinner, maybe, tomorrow? If you wanted?”

“I’d like that very much,” Porthos agreed, and kissed him again for good measure.

“I’m not exactly cordon bleu standard, but I’ve managed not to poison myself yet,” Athos told him. “Come on down when you finish work if like?”

“I should go back and change first,” Porthos said. “You won’t want me all muddy and sweaty.”

“Change here if you like,” Athos offered. “It’ll save you walking all the way down to the village and back. You can have a shower if you want, too.”

Porthos grinned. “If you want me to take my clothes off in your house, you only have to ask.”

Athos gave a quiet laugh. “Let’s have dinner first, eh?”

They kissed each other again, lingering over it with the enthusiasm of teenagers until Porthos finally dragged himself away. Athos watched his torchbeam bobbing away down the track until it was out of sight.

\--


	2. Chapter 2

“Porthos!” Athos opened the door to him with a smile and Porthos reflected it was a hell of a difference from the first time he’d come here. The cottage smelt deliciously savoury, and his stomach rumbled.

“Would you like a shower?” Athos offered, after they’d kissed each other hello. 

“Would you mind? I’m not going to bugger up your dinner timings am I?” 

Athos shook his head. “I wasn’t sure exactly when you’d get here, it can sit quite happily on the stove as long as you want. The bathroom’s at the top of the stairs. I’ve left a towel out for you.”

\--

Showered and changed, Porthos rejoined Athos downstairs feeling a lot fresher, and was immediately handed a glass of wine.

“Shit, sorry, I should have bought a bottle,” Porthos said, suddenly feeling embarrassed that he’d come empty handed. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty,” Athos smiled, and they toasted each other.

“Smells good,” Porthos said eagerly, as Athos dished up sausage casserole, baked potatoes and green beans.

“Old family recipe,” Athos told him. “By which I mean I suspect my mother got it off a cookery show in the seventies.”

They ate, and drank, and talked, and by the time they’d finished the wine it was dark outside.

“Sorry, I should have bought a dessert,” Athos apologised. “I’ve got cheese and crackers, if you’d like something more?”

Porthos, having polished off two full helpings, patted his stomach contentedly. “I couldn’t manage another thing. That was fantastic, thank you.”

“Shall I make some coffee? We could move to the sofa, be a bit more comfortable?” Athos offered.

While the kettle was boiling, Porthos came over and slid his arms around Athos’ waist from behind, kissing him on the neck.

“Can I make a suggestion?” he murmured. “How would you feel if we, uh…?”

Athos turned in his arms, and smiled. “Skipped the coffee?”

Porthos smiled back at him, glad they were of one mind. “I’m not going too fast?” he checked, and Athos shook his head.

“Not remotely,” he breathed and they kissed again more heatedly, pressing bodily against each other in search of more contact. 

“I, uh – I bought condoms,” Porthos said between kisses, hoping this would come across as prepared and responsible rather than pushy and presumptuous. To his relief, Athos laughed.

“So did I,” he confessed, and Porthos beamed as Athos took him by the hand and lead him towards the stairs.

Athos’ bedroom had a sloping ceiling and two small windows at the front that didn’t come above waist height. They sat next to each other on the bed, unbuttoning shirts and shucking off trousers, exchanging looks of nervous anticipation.

“You, um, do you have a preference whether you – you know?” Porthos asked as they wriggled out of their underwear, wincing as he stumbled over his words. “Top or bottom?”

“I don’t mind.” Athos slipped his arms around Porthos’ bare chest and kissed him. “I’m happy to do either.”

“Me too,” Porthos told him, relaxing a little now they were both naked and he could see that Athos as turned on as he was. “We could take it in turns?”

Athos smiled, as much at the implication that they were going to do this more than once as anything. “I like the sound of that,” he murmured and pulled back the duvet, climbing into the bed and beckoning Porthos in after him.

\--

It had been immense fun, Porthos decided afterwards. While there was always an element of nerves – or at least self-consciousness – to sleeping with someone for the first time, particularly if you didn’t know them very well, there’d been little awkwardness to it. After a certain amount of mutual exploration, Porthos had fucked Athos into the mattress with an unrestrained vigour, and both of them had been entirely satisfied, in every sense, with the outcome of the evening. 

It was only as Porthos escaped to the bathroom afterwards to take a piss and clean himself up that the first niggle of worry assailed him. He had no doubts that both of them had seen it as a fairly casual fuck – they were both adults, both unattached, there was nothing wrong with that – but all this being so, would Athos expect him to leave now? Should he offer to? Porthos stared at himself in the mirror and began to wish he’d picked up his pants on the way out of the room.

Finally realising he couldn’t hide in the bathroom any longer, Porthos plucked up the courage to go back into the bedroom.

Athos was lying curled under the duvet where he’d left him and blinked up at Porthos with a lazy smile, looking dishevelled and strangely adorable. Before Porthos could speak, Athos had stretched out a hand towards him.

“You will stay?” he asked softly, and Porthos sank back onto the bed with a relieved smile.

“Of course. Unless you’d rather I went?”

Athos shook his head and pushed back the covers and Porthos crawled back in beside him, delighted to find that Athos was apparently willing to snuggle. He’d had more than one partner who’d scorned the idea, and Porthos, who was one of nature’s cuddlers, had always been saddened by this. Now, he happily settled down with Athos in his arms, and indulged himself with an extended session of sleepy smooching.

\--

In the morning Porthos awoke disoriented, until he rolled over and found Athos lying there watching him.

“Hello,” Athos said with a shy smile. Porthos grinned at him.

“Morning.” 

Emboldened by Porthos’ cheerful greeting, Athos closed the gap between them and kissed him. 

“I’ve probably got hanging breath,” Porthos apologised, ducking back a little. “I never cleaned my teeth last night.”

“Trust me, I don’t care,” Athos murmured, and after that there was no more talking for quite a while. Kissing turned into rutting against each other, and before long they’d decided it was high time Athos returned the favour of last night and gave Porthos a reciprocal seeing to.

Afterwards they lay there panting and smiling at each other, half-laughing and loosely holding hands.

“I should really get to work,” Porthos groaned, catching sight of the time. 

“Grab a shower if you like,” Athos offered. “You want some breakfast?” He sat up, pushing his hair out of his face and yawning widely. “At least you won’t have far to go. Oh, or will you need to go back to The Lion for your kit? I could run you down if you want?”

Porthos shook his head. “Thanks, but it’s all on site. There’s a secure lock-up they use for signs and stuff, I left it in there. It’s not like this is a high crime area.”

Athos smiled. “Strictly sheep rustling and moonshine.” He climbed out of bed and Porthos admired the sight of his bare arse twinkling out of the door.

\--

Showered and breakfasted, Porthos lingered in the cottage doorway saying goodbye with few words but a lot of tongue.

“So – can I see you again?” he asked hopefully. Athos smirked.

“I should think so.”

“Great. Good. Um.” Porthos gave him a helpless smile. “Tonight? I could buy you dinner at the pub. I mean, I’d offer to cook, but I’ve only got a kettle in the room, so it’d be Pot Noodle or nothing.”

Athos laughed. “Pub grub sounds good to me. That would be nice, thank you.”

“See you down there at seven?” Porthos kissed him again, and finally made his way down the path, turning every few minutes to find Athos still standing in the doorway shivering in his dressing gown, laughing and waving at him.

\--

Porthos had a stupid smile on his face all day, and as he changed for dinner that night, having showered and carefully trimmed his beard, he found he actually had butterflies in his stomach. As soon as he saw Athos waiting for him in the bar though they melted away, and the hours of the evening flew past.

“I should be making a move,” Athos conceded eventually, when there was only one other table left occupied, and the landlord clearly wanted to close up for the night.

“Give me a minute, I’ll grab my coat and walk you home,” Porthos offered, jumping to his feet. Athos reached out and snagged his sleeve.

“You, um. You could stay over. If you wanted?” he offered quietly.

Porthos beamed fit to burst. “Make it two minutes, I’ll grab a bag.”

\--

Tucked up in bed in the cottage an hour later, Porthos picked up his book again whilst waiting for Athos to finish in the bathroom. 

When Athos came in, he smiled to see what Porthos was reading. "Nearly finished I see?"

Porthos gave him puppy-dog eyes. "I've only got about a chapter to go."

Athos laughed, climbing in next to him. "Finish it if you want. I don't mind."

Tempted, Porthos was nevertheless mildly embarrassed. "Are my priorities screwed? Wanting to read a book as opposed to having sex with its author?"

"Trust me, as the author in question, I'm very flattered," Athos smiled, and kissed him. "Besides, nobody's saying you can't have both." He took a notebook out of the bedside drawer and settled back with it balanced on his knees. Porthos peered over his shoulder with hopeful curiosity.

"Sequel?"

"Something different," Athos told him, closing the cover again defensively but looking amused. 

"Well I shall look forward to reading it, whatever it is," Porthos said sincerely, and Athos blushed.

"You're very kind."

"I mean it. In fact I should probably stop distracting you with sex." 

"Don't you dare," Athos smirked. "Author's perks. And there aren't many."

Porthos returned to his reading, vaguely conscious of Athos scribbling away next to him but soon completely re-immersed in the world of the book. He devoured the last few pages at speed, torn between making them last and needing to know what happened, and when he finally finished it laid the book down in his lap with a satisfied sigh.

Athos glanced sideways at him. "Was it alright?" he ventured. There was something peculiarly nervewracking about sitting beside someone who was reading a thing you'd written.

"It was perfect." Porthos rolled over and pulled Athos into his arms. "I loved every page of it."

Athos relaxed, hugging him gratefully. "Could you say that on Amazon?" he laughed. "Got to be worth a couple of sales at least."

Porthos grinned. "I'll say it anywhere you want me to." He slid his hand down the front of Athos' boxers and gave him an assessing squeeze. "Anything else you want me to review while I'm at it?" 

\--

For the next two weeks they spent almost all of Porthos’ downtime together. He would walk down to the cottage on his lunchbreak to eat with Athos, and more often than not it would devolve into shameless fornication. Caught in the first heady flush of passion, they fucked each other all over the house – in the bed, in the shower, on the sofa – on one occasion Porthos had even taken Athos bent over the dining table in full view of the track, had anyone happened along.

They found too, that quite apart from the sex they simply enjoyed each other’s company and would spend hours discussing all manner of things. There was one subject though they had both so far steered clear of. In less than two weeks Porthos would be done with surveying, and move on to the next job. 

He knew at first neither of them had really seen this as any more than a casual hook up, but as the days went by Porthos found himself thinking more and more about the possibility of asking Athos if he’d be interested in staying in touch. Even if Athos didn’t want to carry on a long-distance relationship, Porthos realised he’d like to stay friends.

Somehow though, he never quite plucked up the courage to broach the subject, worried that Athos wouldn’t feel the same, or think he was being tiresome. He consoled himself with the knowledge that there was still some time to go, and vaguely hoped that Athos might raise the question first.

The weather, changeable at best, had settled into a steady downpour that showed no signs of letting up. Having spent an increasingly soggy day squelching about the castle, Porthos had returned to the pub for a hot shower and change of clothes, and Athos had braved the rain to come down and join him for dinner. 

As last orders were called, Porthos made a half-hearted offer to walk Athos home, and was guiltily relieved when Athos just laughed.

“You stay here in the warm, you’ve been wet enough today already.” 

They got to their feet and Porthos gave him a sheepish grin, glad they were both past the point where they felt the need to impress each other.

"I'll see you tomorrow then." They hugged each other goodbye, and Porthos gave him a brief kiss on the lips as Athos pulled on his coat and forged out into the rain. 

As Porthos made his way back through the bar, he caught the eye of a man sitting on one of the high-backed wooden settles, who gave him such a filthy look that Porthos was startled. It brought it home to him that out here in the sticks public displays of affection between two men might be a lot less tolerated than in the city. 

He felt uncomfortable, but at the same time incensed. They'd done nothing wrong, after all. 

"Something you want to say?" Porthos demanded, stopping in front of the man's table. He knew he should let it go and just go up to bed, but his hackles were up and the beer he'd drunk was telling to stand up for his rights.

The man gave him a look of disgust. "Well I can't say what I think, can I?" he drawled in the lilting local accent. "Free speech only seems to work one way these days, doesn't it? Say what I think, I'll end up in jail most likely."

Porthos glared at him. "For fucks sake, it was just a peck. It's not like we were sat there all over each other. What's your problem?"

"Hey now lad, you were the one approached me, remember? I didn't say a word. Glaring in silent disapproval’s about the only tradition the British have got left, isn't it? That's my right, as much as flaunting your revolting preferences is yours."

Porthos bit back an angry reply, sensing he was being baited and awkwardly aware that he was the outsider in these parts. Although unpleasant, the man wasn't being especially antagonistic, and Porthos didn't want to be the one accused of starting trouble. He gave a grunt of disgust and was about to walk off when the man called out again.

"I suppose it's a sign of the times though, don't you reckon Keith?"

The landlord, polishing glasses behind the bar, gave him a look. "Leave the boy alone Dennis. His money's as good as yours and you'll both keep a civil tongue in your heads in my pub," he added, including Porthos in the sweep of his stern gaze.

"Still I suppose it's good that a man can put his history aside, eh?" Dennis continued conversationally. "Considering."

Porthos put his hands on his hips. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, sensing it was clearly meant to be offensive but unsure why.

"Well, you know. One of your people associating with one of the de la Feres. Given how they made their money and all." He went back to sipping his beer and Porthos stared at him. Choosing to ignore the implied racism of 'your people' and the disgusted inflection on 'associating', Porthos felt he was still missing the main point.

"What are you on about?" he demanded. "How did they make their money, what?"

"Dennis," called the landlord warningly, but Dennis gave Porthos a guileless smile. 

"Slave trade, wasn't it?" he said cheerfully. "Well, sugar barons they called themselves, but we all know what that means don't we? Made their fortune they did, running them in and out of Bristol. I mean, long time ago now though, of course. Like I say. Good you can set it all aside like that."

Porthos just stared at him, feeling suddenly sick to his stomach. Unable to form a reply, he merely turned his back and stumbled away, blindly mounting the stairs to his room on the first floor.

Sitting on his bed, he put his head in his hands, mind whirling. His initial instinct was that it was all a lie, although the landlord's attempt to deflect it suggested he'd known what Dennis was about to say. Surely Athos would have told him, Porthos thought miserably, and then conceded that there was no reason on earth for him to have done so.

He didn't know what to do for the best. His instinct was to confront Athos about it, but he could hardly go chasing up the road after him in the dark, and he realised he didn't actually have Athos' phone number. Still, he'd see him tomorrow. They could talk then.

Porthos went to bed feeling ill, and sleep was a long time coming. To think that Athos might even now be living off the proceeds of such an abhorrent practice was inconceivable, and yet he realised perfectly possible. Athos' family had obviously been in the area a long time, and his cultured voice and expensively historic cottage suggested old money. 

Porthos pulled the pillow over his head miserably and tried in vain to fall asleep.

\--


	3. Chapter 3

In the morning Porthos felt tired and irritable, and the fact it was still pouring with rain didn't help his mood. Swathed in waterproofs he stomped up the hill to work, and spent a gloomy morning getting steadily soaked to the skin.

Ordinarily he'd have gone down to see Athos at lunchtime, but somehow today he couldn't bring himself to. If what Dennis had told him was true then he didn't want to see Athos yet, didn't trust himself. So he ate his lunch resentfully alone, and found every mouthful hard to swallow.

That evening Porthos sat alone in the bar, nursing a pint. He felt numb and confused and also guilty because he knew Athos would be wondering why he hadn't appeared for lunch. He realised that he was putting off the moment of confrontation, because that way he could carry on pretending it was all a mistake, that there was no truth in any of it. 

"Porthos?" 

He looked up to find Athos standing by his table, looking a little hesitant, and he wondered what his expression had held. 

"Is everything alright?" Athos gave him a concerned smile. "I missed you earlier, is something wrong?" Clearly expecting Porthos to have simply had a bad day, and been loaded down with work. 

For a long moment Porthos wondered whether to say anything at all. Another week and he'd be out of here anyway. But he had to know, and for that matter had to give Athos the chance to give his version of events. It was, after all, hardly a dilemma of Athos' own making.

"Can we talk?" Porthos said flatly, draining his glass.

"Yes, of course." Athos frowned and made to sit down, but Porthos got to his feet. 

"Not here. Upstairs."

Puzzled at his demeanour, Athos followed Porthos up to his room. Porthos didn't say a word all the way there, and once the door was closed behind them just stared at Athos helplessly.

"Porthos, what's wrong?" Athos asked. "Has something happened?"

Porthos swallowed. "Can I ask you something?" Athos nodded, and Porthos took a deep breath. "Was your family ever involved in the slave trade?" 

Whatever Athos had been expecting it wasn't that, and he stared at Porthos in surprise. "Well - " he stammered. "Er - yes. I'm sad to say it was, briefly. Who told you that?"

Porthos sank down into the only chair, feeling nauseous. "Doesn't matter who told me," he muttered. "It's true then?"

"Well, yes." Athos looked uncomfortable. "I mean - it was a long time ago." 

"It still happened," Porthos spat. "It's still blood money."

Athos stared at him. "Hang on, are you blaming me?" 

"For your family making a fortune out of selling other human beings?" Porthos demanded. "Cause yeah, why would I ever find that offensive?"

"Porthos, we're talking about something that happened hundreds of years ago," Athos said incredulously. "It was a terrible thing, but I can't help what a few of my ancestors chose to cash in on. It's not like they started the whole thing."

"Are you _defending_ them?" Porthos surged back to his feet angrily. Athos met his gaze without flinching.

"No of course I'm not, don't be fucking stupid."

"Oh, stupid am I?"

"Well that depends," Athos shot back. "Are you actually standing there blaming me for something I have literally no control over?"

"Well maybe I am."

"Then you're a fucking idiot."

They glared at each other, until Athos gestured helplessly. 

"What do you want me to say Porthos? Of course I don't condone it, but I can't change history any more than you can." 

"You could apologise."

"For what? Being descended from some people who made their money from something that was entirely legal at the time?" Athos snapped before he could stop himself. 

It was all Porthos could do not to punch him. He balled his fists together convulsively and breathed hard through his nose.

"Get out," he managed. "Get the fuck out of my sight. I don't ever want to see you again." 

"Porthos." Athos looked pained, and belatedly rather ashamed of himself. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have - "

"I said get out!"

Athos gave him a hard look and left without another word. Porthos threw himself down on the bed, fighting the ridiculous urge to cry. What had he wanted, he wondered. For Athos to turn his back on his inheritance in the name of a principle? That was hardly likely, or fair for that matter, he conceded. Athos was right, he wasn't to blame for anything his ancestors might have done. 

Porthos sighed. He suspected he'd mishandled the whole thing, but Athos' attitude had put his back up, and he was still as angry as he was upset. At least he didn't have much left to do up at the castle, another few days and he'd be done. He was glad now he hadn't raised the subject of staying in touch after he'd gone, told himself they could both put the last couple of weeks down as a casual fling that didn't work out, and move on.

If only he didn't feel so stupidly, utterly heartbroken.

\--

The following day the weather was worse than ever and Porthos spent it fuming quietly to himself. The stream that ran down the valley was vastly swollen and a revolting muddy brown from all the soil being washed from the surrounding fields. As much water again seemed to be pouring down his neck, and the grassed areas inside the castle wall were spongy and treacherous under his feet. 

Huddled under a tree to eat his lunch, he tried not to think about the fact that he could have been sitting cosily in Athos' cottage drinking decent coffee - or lying in Athos' bed, for that matter, with Athos' lips around his cock. 

He pushed the images away sulkily, and went back to work as soon as he'd finished his sandwich. The sooner he was done here, the sooner he could leave.

That night in the pub he ventured down to the bar for a drink, hoping fervently that Athos didn't decide to drop in. It wasn't a high risk, it was unlikely he'd venture down the track in this weather, and Porthos suspected he'd give the place a wide berth until he was sure Porthos had gone in any case.

The weather had kept most people at home and the bar was quiet. To his annoyance one of the only people sitting at the bar was Dennis. 

"Not with your little friend this evening?" Dennis asked innocently, smirking into his pint.

Porthos glowered at him. "We're not seeing each other any more," he said shortly.

"Oh, dear," Dennis murmured not sounding sorry in the least. "I guess the shadow of history's harder to overcome than we think, eh?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Porthos muttered. Dennis rocked back on his stool and looked smug.

"Still, look on the bright side, eh? He'll probably get a book out of it."

Porthos decided he didn't want a drink after all and stamped back up to his room.

\--

It rained all through the night, and Porthos splashed his way up to the castle the next morning wondering when it was ever going to end. Maybe he'd book a holiday, he mused. Somewhere hot and dry. Somewhere a long way from Athos.

He climbed to the top of the tower, and realised with a spike of annoyance that he'd unconsciously done so precisely so he could look down at Athos' cottage. It was the only place on site where the house was visible, as you could look right down the slope. 

Porthos wondered what Athos was doing. Was he writing? Was he still in bed? Did he miss him? Was he hurt, angry, dismissive?

He turned away, cross with himself for wasting so much time thinking about the man, and his foot went out from under him on the wet stone. Slipping sideways, Porthos made a frantic grab for the crenellations and just managed to stop himself plummeting right off the edge.

Breathing hard, he clung to the stonework for a minute, recovering himself and trying not to think about how close he'd come to disaster. Falling from this height would have meant broken bones at the very least, and could easily have been fatal. 

He hauled himself upright again, frowning. He knew he'd been distracted, but he'd been up here numerous times, and never slipped before. He scuffed at the ground curiously, and then went down a couple of steps to peer at the battlements from the level of the floor.

"That's funny," he muttered. A horrible suspicion building in his mind, Porthos hastily fetched his equipment and set about re-measuring the levels. This had been the first part he'd done, and he had survey data down to the last millimetre from three weeks earlier.

Back on ground level and comparing the figures, he felt a cold chill and stared up at the remains of the tower. Was it his imagination, or was it looming over him a lot more than it had been? Maybe it was just the rain falling into his face that was making him dizzy, but one thing was for certain, the figures didn't lie. The floor in the tower was leaning at an angle almost two centimetres out from what it had been previously, which over such a short space of time suggested something catastrophic. Porthos strongly suspected all the heavy rains had been washing out the foundations, and dug his phone out.

"Steve? It's Porthos mate. I'm out at Undercliffe Castle. Look, I'm going to need you to get the structural guys out here tomorrow at the latest. I'm going to need scaffolding, acrow-props, the lot, I think we're looking at possible subsidence, maybe even a potential collapse on part of the site. Yeah, I know, it's this fucking weather, is it pissing it down there was well? Look, I'll send you through a list of what I need later okay, but can you just put the guys on alert? I'll tape the place off in the meantime, should be okay, nobody's coming out here in this weather anyway. Yeah, cheers, talk to you later." 

Porthos hung up, and was faced with a dilemma. Should he go down and warn Athos there was a risk of bits of masonry falling off the castle? It wasn't as if he was likely to come wandering round the place with Porthos there, and the angle of lean meant anything that dropped off would most likely fall inside the castle rather than down the hill, but still. Personal feelings aside he had a professional responsibility.

He walked reluctantly down to the cottage, and setting his shoulders, banged on the door. There was no answer, and Porthos wondered if Athos was deliberately avoiding him. He peered in the window but couldn't see him, then realised the land rover wasn't there.

Feeling he'd had a reprieve, Porthos squinted up towards the battlements, dark against the skyline. There was a ridge of the hill that bulged out some way up, and he was reasonably certain that it would catch and deflect any debris coming down the hill. Deciding Athos would be fine, he hastily made his escape.

The rest of the afternoon was spent setting up hazard tape around the tower and the entrance to the site. He went back to his room at the pub and sent off photos, measurements and assessment report to his superiors, with a list of structural support requirements. He created a makeshift 'danger - keep out' sign, and following advice from the barmaid on duty went over to the shop where he managed to get a couple printed out and laminated.

Traipsing back up to the castle, he noticed in the falling dusk that there was now a light on in Athos' cottage. Wondered whether to call in, and decided against it. It looked like with this recent development he'd be out of here sooner rather than later; if there were repairs to be made, that would be another team's responsibility.

Having set up his warning signs, Porthos decided there was nothing else he could usefully do and started walking back down to the village. At the crossroads he met Paul the farmer standing outside the shop talking to Keith, and stopped to explain what had happened. The more word got round that people needed to stay away from the place the better, although human nature being what it was, that carried a risk in itself of people going to have a look.

As they stood there, the rain that had been pouring down in a steady curtain all day abruptly got heavier and they retreated under the awning of the shop hoping it would ease off again.

"Thought we weren't supposed to get monsoons in this country?" Paul complained. Their laughter was interrupted by a sudden ominous rumble echoing down the valley, and a noticeable tremor ran though the ground beneath them as if from a distant but massive impact.

"Earthquake?" suggested Paul in startled surprise, but Porthos was shaking his head in dawning horror. 

"That came from the castle. Oh my God, that sounded like the whole lot just came down. Fuck." He started running back up the track, and Keith and Paul exchanged alarmed glances. 

"We'd better follow him," Keith sighed.

Porthos hared up the track in the failing light, wondering what the hell he would find. It had sounded like the whole castle tower had collapsed, and his first thought was that he was glad he'd left when he did, or he might have been underneath it.

Rounding a corner he came to a halt in sudden confusion. The track, rather than branching off to Athos' cottage and twisting on up to the gatehouse, instead came to an abrupt end in a sea of soil and stone. His horrified gaze travelled upwards. Where there should have been a steep hillside with the castle wall peeping over the top, there was just a jagged scar of fresh rock and earth. 

Stunned, Porthos just stood there stupidly staring, unable to take in the magnitude of what had happened. It hadn't been part of the castle that had collapsed, he realised. It had been the hill itself. Half of it had subsided into the valley, taking the castle tower and curtain wall with it.

As running feet behind him heralded the panting approach of Paul and Keith, Porthos' brain finally let him take in one more inconceivable result of this collapse. Where Athos' cottage had stood was nothing but a mound of earth and rock and massive chunks of fallen masonry. The cottage itself couldn't been seen, not even a chimney. It had either been flattened by the weight of debris, or swept away down the valley, brushed off the very face of the earth.

\--


	4. Chapter 4

"No." The word stuck in his throat, and the blood seemed to drain from his head. "Athos. No." 

Porthos made to scramble forwards over the shifting mud, as if he could claw Athos free with his bare hands, and Paul and Keith grabbed him hastily.

"Let me go! I've got to help him!"

Paul shook his head ruefully, as Keith stepped away again, to call the emergency services. "There's nothing you can do for him lad."

"But he might still be alive under there," Porthos pleaded. "In the cottage."

"Wood and slate and plaster mostly, if I remember the place," Paul sighed. "Would have gone down like so many playing cards under the weight of all that stone. No, I'm sorry, I'd say he's had it. There's no use you getting yourself killed, look there's still stuff coming down. Leave it to the professionals, they're on their way." 

Numb, Porthos could only stand and stare. If only he'd warned Athos he thought, sick with guilt. But then, even if he had, it was unlikely Athos would have left. He'd never imagined anything on this scale. Porthos wondered now if the bulging ridge of earth he'd noticed above the cottage had been the prelude to this, and cursed himself for not thinking to compare the earlier survey data for the hillside itself. 

Everyone had always assumed the hill was an entirely natural formation of rock, but the professional part of Porthos' brain was vaguely noting that the castle mound must have been at least in part made up ground. The heavy rains had washed so much of it out that the weight of the castle walls had brought the lot down. And he called himself a surveyor, Porthos thought bitterly. He'd been careless, negligent even, and Athos had paid the price for it.

Porthos choked back a sob. He couldn't take in what had happened, had resisted all suggestions he should leave, go back to the pub. The place by now was crawling with police and firemen, the still falling rain like stair rods in the flashing blue lights. 

"Jesus Christ, what happened here?" 

The voice, coming from behind their little group huddled for meagre shelter under an ash tree, made Porthos swing round so violently he nearly lost his footing on the wet ground.

_"Athos?"_

Disbelieving, hardly able to breathe, Porthos stared at the figure standing in the headlights of the emergency vehicles, a land rover parked behind them on the track. It was Athos, unharmed but looking shocked and confused at the scene of devastation.

Porthos couldn't speak, just flung himself at Athos and threw his arms around him, shaking. 

"Porthos?" Athos patted him awkwardly on the back in surprise, then when Porthos showed no signs of letting go, settled his arms cautiously around him in turn.

"Did you think I was _in_ there?" Athos asked, realisation dawning. Porthos gave a shaky nod and Athos hugged him a little tighter, as it gradually occurred to him that if he'd come home any earlier he might well have been.

For a while they just held onto each other, then Porthos pulled back looking shamefaced. "Sorry," he said hoarsely, remembering that they were no longer lovers, and Athos might not welcome being grabbed in such a way. "I just - I thought you were dead."

Athos gave him a curious look, then a faint smile. "Good to know you'd have cared," he said softly.

They stared at each other, but whatever they might have said was interrupted by the fire chief coming over. Having established that Athos was alive and well and it was reasonable to suppose that no one was trapped by the landslide after all, the light Porthos had seen being the result of a timed switch, efforts were thankfully scaled back for the night, and the area made secure.

"Guess I'll be sleeping in the landie tonight," Athos sighed, and Keith slapped him on the back.

"Come down to the Lion lad, I'll find a room for you."

"You're very kind." Athos gave him a tired smile, still processing the fact that it appeared that he'd just lost everything he owned. 

\--

An hour later, Athos had been installed in a bedroom at the pub and was just considering going down search of some supper when there was a quiet knock on the door. It was Porthos, looking subdued and a little sheepish. 

"Hey." Porthos gave him a tentative smile, and was relieved when Athos smiled back, and pushed the door wider.

"Hello. Come in."

Porthos stepped inside, and in the absence of any chairs they warily sat next to each other on the bed.

"I just came to see how you were doing," Porthos said. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I think so," Athos nodded, looking rather bewildered. "I mean - I guess it could have been a lot worse."

"You seem to be taking it all very calmly," Porthos observed. "I think I'd be doing me nut."

Athos half smiled. "I don't think it's really sunk in yet. That I've lost everything." He sighed. "At least I had my laptop with me, it was in the land rover. So I've not lost my work. I think I'd be a little more unhinged right now if I had," he added with a dry laugh.

"I guess the cottage was insured at least?" Porthos ventured. 

"I imagine so. Not my problem, fortunately."

Porthos frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I was only renting." Athos took in Porthos surprised expression and laughed. "What, you think I could afford a place like that on what I make?"

"But - you're a published author," Porthos objected.

"Of one book, that's never troubled the best-seller lists," Athos reminded him. "Oh, it brings in a bit, but mostly I make rent by doing proof-reading for other people and writing articles - selling the occasional short story, if I'm lucky. The cottage belongs to a couple who were friends of my parents. They moved out to France, and were happy to let me have it for a peppercorn rent, to know it was being looked after." He winced. "That's one phonecall I'm not looking forward to making."

Porthos was still confused. "But what about the family fortune?"

"What family fortune?" Athos looked equally lost, and Porthos frowned at him.

"The one that came from the sodding slave trade," he reminded him, bristling all over again.

Athos just looked at him, and sighed. "Porthos, my family has made - and lost - several fortunes over the centuries. As far as I can tell they came over with the Conqueror, and they've been hanging round these parts ever since. It's rumoured one of them even worked in this castle, under the Clifford family who had it built. It's why this place is called Undercliffe you know, nothing to do with actual cliffs. Anyway, they had a talent, it seems, for making money - but unfortunately not for hanging on to it. Whatever they made from slavery I promise you Porthos, it was all long gone before I came along. I'm afraid I'm as poor as a church mouse." 

Porthos stared back at him in shock. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

"You didn't give me a chance," Athos said ruefully. "Besides, I rather got the impression you were holding the whole thing against me. I shouldn't have said half of what I said, I'm sorry Porthos. But it felt like you were blaming me for things that weren't of my doing, and it all felt so unfair."

"I thought you were living off blood money," Porthos explained miserably. 

They stared at each other in mutual surprise, and Porthos hung his head. "You were right," he groaned.

"I was? About what?"

"I am a fucking idiot."

Athos bit back a smile. "Well, I don't know about that. I could have been a bit more sympathetic to where you were coming from. A lot more."

Porthos looked up then and nodded meaningfully, and it was Athos' turn to bow his head guiltily. "I'm sorry," he sighed, and Porthos slid his hand across the covers until their fingers were just touching.

"Me too," he whispered.

Athos turned his head to look at him. "Friends?" he said quietly. 

Porthos let his hand slide further on until it was covering Athos'. "How would you feel about - more than friends?" he ventured. To his relief, Athos smiled slowly.

"I'd like that," Athos admitted. "I'd like that an awful lot."

They leaned together and kissed each other softly, slowly wrapping their arms around each other and holding each other close.

"I've missed you," Porthos admitted in a whisper.

"I've missed you too." Athos kissed him again, and they shared a shaky smile. "I'm sorry I was such an arse about it." 

"I'm sorry I went off at the deep end," Porthos sighed. "We should have talked it through, but I just saw red."

"How did you find out in the first place?" Athos asked. "You never did tell me."

"Do you know a bloke called Dennis?"

"Flat cap, face like a squashed badger?"

Porthos cackled delightedly. "Yeah, that's him." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I guess after you said the village had taken your book so well, that I assumed they'd be a bit more accepting than maybe they are."

Athos shrugged. "Some were fine about it. Others were a bit more peculiar. I got a lot of funny looks when it first came out, believe me. But I was enough of a fixture around the place by then that even if they thought I was a weirdo, I was their weirdo, which was kind've okay. Besides, I wasn't going out with anyone, so I guess nobody had to confront the reality of what it meant it until now." He flushed, realising what he'd just said. "Not that I'm suggesting we're, er - "

"We are absolutely going out," Porthos told him firmly, taking Athos' hand in his and entwining their fingers. "And we are going to go down there and have dinner together, and balls to what everybody else thinks. And after that, we are coming back up here and we are going to fuck like weasels."

Athos looked amused. "With a turn of phrase like that, have you ever considered becoming an author?"

\--

Downstairs in the bar Porthos was heartened by the warmth of welcome they received, with several people coming over to commiserate Athos on losing his home and possessions. This paled into insignificance though beside the surprise he got next, as when they reached the bar, Dennis nodded to them civilly.

"Buy you boys a drink?"

"You've changed your tune," Porthos blurted before he could stop himself. 

Dennis shrugged. "Just because I don't approve of some things, doesn't mean I want to see anybody dead," he said simply. "Could have been nasty, that."

"Thank you," said Athos sincerely, and accepted his offer before Porthos could say anything to the contrary.

"I can be polite," Porthos grumbled, as they went to sit at a quiet table in the corner. "You didn't have to scurry me off like a naughty child."

Athos grinned at him, and raised his glass in a toast. "I know. I was just keeping the peace."

Porthos clinked his own glass against it, and conceded a smile. "Hurry up and decide what you want to eat. Because for dessert, I am totally having you."

\--

The next couple of days were a blur of bureaucracy. Athos had to deal with the fall out of losing the entire contents of his house, including all his paperwork, files and contracts, and spent most of the time on the phone trying to explain this to a succession of confused insurance people. He managed to get his mail redirected to a post office box, and also drove across to the nearest town to buy some new clothes, having been left with only what he was standing up in.

Porthos, for his part, went through an agonising process of reporting and interviews and survey data until finally, to his weak relief, it was agreed that the landslip would be classed as an unavoidable Act of God, the result of unprecedented rainfall and inherent geological weakness and that there was nothing he could have done to either predict or prevent the catastrophe.

Lying in bed with Athos that night, he related the investigation's findings, and was kissed soundly for his trouble.

"Does that mean you can stop worrying now?" Athos asked with a smile, and Porthos laughed, sinking into his arms with a sigh.

"Yeah, I guess." They were silent for a while, enjoying the warm sleepy closeness, then Porthos plucked up the courage to raise the other thing that'd been on his mind.

"Have you thought about what you'll do?"

"Not really," Athos admitted. "Guess I'll have to find somewhere else to rent, although given my income and the fact I'm going to have to replace everything, I guess I'm looking at a bedsit somewhere."

Porthos took a deep breath. "Thing is - they've just given me my next schedule. Got several sites to survey up in the Lake District. I'll be there most of the summer."

"I'll miss you," Athos murmured, turning to press a kiss to Porthos' bare shoulder.

"That's what I'm trying to say," Porthos continued. "Because I'll be there so long, they've decided it's cheaper to rent me a cottage than stick me in a hotel all through the tourist season. So I was wondering - if you'd like to come with me?" He gave Athos a look that was both hopeful and nervous. "They've sent me a link to it, it's really remote. You'd have peace and quiet all day for writing." He hesitated. "And - it'd be really nice to have you to come home to in the evenings?"

Athos looked startled, then gradually smiled. "You're serious?"

"Course I am." Porthos wriggled closer and kissed him. "Come with me Athos. It'll be what, three months, give or take? It'll give us a shot at seeing if we get on living together," he added shyly.

"Well, I - I don't know what to say."

"Say yes." Porthos gazed hopefully at him. "Say yes, and come away with me."

Athos smiled at him. "Yes. Alright."

"You mean it?"

"Yes." Athos nodded, then laughed as Porthos pounced on him gleefully. "Just promise me this place isn't at the bottom of a cliff?"

Porthos shook his head. "Actually it's on top of a hill. On a clear day we should be able to see for miles." 

Athos put his arms around him and drew Porthos back in close for a kiss. 

"As long as this time we can both see what's right in front of us?" he smiled. "It sounds perfect."

\--


End file.
